How Revisionist of You
by starqueg
Summary: Formerly Chronicles of Change. She contemplated the things she would change if she could overcome such improbabilities in physics. LL sort of
1. Default Chapter

**How Revisionist of You: Part I**

Disclaimer: You know the tune...sing along.

Summary: Is there anything you'd change if you just had the chance?

Dedicated to: Pig, for always being there playing in the background.

**Oh, Isn't it Strange**

She thought that she would notice a change if she ever saw one. She knew every nook and cranny of the place. She never paid much attention to detail elsewhere. It was the caffeine. It had to be the caffeine. It was the original source...of the caffeine, that is. She knew exactly where each display mug went (were they really for display only? that would be silly). She knew that some of the chairs came from Mrs. Kim's antique store and exactly which ones. The only other thing that changed over the years, was how far her daughter could see over the tabletops. Eventually, she quit needing the Hartford phonebook that she knew the proprietor still kept behind the counter for memory's sake. It was homage paid to the only child the man would ever like, much less love, enough to give his life for (or keep sentimental phonebooks for). All of this still added up to same conclusion: In this haven, in this sanctuary, change wasn't allowed. Ritual, consistency, the ever-fading paint: sacred.

Things were changing on the outside, however. The letter from Chilton, the parental wringer she'd been through as a daughter for her daughter. The emotional wringer she'd been through with her daughter as a mother. The roles that she had tried so hard to make distinct for sixteen years were blurring rapidly. When things build at her pace they unravel at her pace and she was losing it. There were boys in her daughter's eyes, guilt-trips and revenge in her mother's, thinly-veiled indifference with a side of disappointment in her father's. And just now, something new, something different in a friend's. All of this was unraveling in a mind so easily distracted by shiny objects (mostly shoes) that maintaining a witty conversation with her daughter was proving to be so trying and exhausting that coffee was becoming a quick necessity. Incessant blabbering seemed her roadblock to solution.

This two-way mirror that invisibly resided in the middle of the table amazed her and scared the crap out of her simultaneously. She was beginning to rethink this whole best friend philosophy when it came to raising her baby. It had worked so well in the pre-pubescent years. Those years full of slumber parties, movies, junk food and friendship bracelets. Suddenly, she was sixteen again and the things that had her climbing out of bedroom windows were there. There in those eyes that looked so remarkably like her own.

She was scared shitless.

So she turned away from the annoyed glare that was hiding the motorcycles in her daughter's eyes and beheld...the healing powers of a bath.

That was changing. The one thing that couldn't change. She could not take any more change. The consistency of this diner was the only thing tethering her to reality. She was doing all of this alone, just like she had vowed to all those years ago. The man with the missing headgear in a rare costume reminded her that she wasn't doing all of this alone and that she never really had. He had helped her. He had helped Rory. Sookie had almost sold her worthless car for her daughter's education. Babette and Maury baby-sat and sung lullabies (jazzy ones). She wasn't here alone because, most importantly, she had Rory.

That made her smile.

"Is something wrong with your coffee?" Grunted a voice outside of her periphery. She jumped. Her daughter giggled.

"Shut it you." She glared. "I don't know, I haven't sampled. Why? Did you do something to it? It's decaf. You gave me decaf. You're an ass." She glared anew.

"I didn't do a damn thing to your cup of crap. I was just amazed you hadn't blinked it out of existence yet. You've got a damn black hole where your mouth's supposed to be. That Hawking guy should quit looking at the damned sky." There was a grunt, a mumble and quick retreat into the back.

"Apparently the bath did nothing for his personality." She grinned. Rory giggled and the both looked to their respective mugs.

Lorelai, however, still had seen the change.

**How We Move Our Lives For Another Day**

Somehow, in the midst of the worst fashion emergency since her fourth month, the worst headmaster's office visit since her fourth month, and the worst Emily encounter since, well, Friday, she had caught the eye of a handsome man.

A man who had come all the way to her inn to ask her out. She was floating on a cloud (the sixth cup of coffee might actually be the cause of that). She was totally considering a post-China get together in spite of the schooling of his progeny. It had been a really long time for her. A long time.

She didn't have the time for it. She'd convinced herself that she didn't need some companion to chaperone her through life. She didn't need the man around because the men she'd had served no purpose, aside from knocking her up or berating her for getting knocked up. She didn't need one, except when her dry spells were starting to chap her lips and her underwear selections were starting to get risqué. It was a time when corduroy was unheard of due to excess friction and nearly every word spoken elicits a "dirty".

By the time she walked down to the diner she was strung up like a cello and had nearly lost all necessity for corduroy. The hum of the cello was becoming so overwhelming that one part of her mind was barely able to hold a conversation with Luke while trying not to think of the fact that she was near a "live one".

Somehow they ended up talking about the man that had turned on the creamy switch and it wasn't helping the matter at all. Luke was saying something about the Chilton Dad being old while Lorelai was just thinking about him being with a pulse.

Then, there it was again. That one look and the creamy which went up a notch. It was reassuring for her to know that he was concerned about who she dated or not. When she was really starting to mentally remove the baseball cap (among other things) her cell phone rang. Ah Babette.

Later that night while getting ready for bed, Lorelai was thinking about what Rory had said about not dating Luke. She suddenly had a series of surprising thoughts. Surprising thoughts always amused her because as she progressed her caffeine addiction demanded more attention. This situation was specifically heart-wrenching because her thought and the addiction were so closely linked that they were skipping off down the lane in her head. That wasn't the surprising part. Dating him was definitely not what she had been thinking about recently. Never once, when that gleam in his eye matched hers, was she envisioning dinner and a movie. She laughed out loud at the idea. Then she sunk further into her bed hoping that Rory hadn't heard.

As Lorelai kept thinking, She was beginning to wonder if she was insane. 'Of course you are' grumped a voice that was not her own. Her conscience had lost a voice of its own. This is bad. But this was not the generic "Lorelai, your insane" that she heard on a daily basis, but seriously off her rocker. She was a thirty-two year old woman who had no desire to hop into a relationship or a commitment, but every desire to hop into the sack with a man she'd known since Rory still required tooth fairy services and a Hartford phonebook.

Suddenly Luke was becoming the human manifestation of possible sexual relations for Lorelai. She had a feeling he would probably know a few things. Where she got this idea was beyond her; she'd never seen the man with another woman. No girlfriend. Not even a an obvious one night stand hobbling down the apartment stairs in the early mornings.

And the laughing was back.

**Like Skipping a Beat**

Dating was just another thing that scared her. All of these possibilities for change weren't acceptable. Why couldn't there be an easy way to self-gratification that didn't put her heart at risk? That didn't put Rory at risk. Something that didn't have her standing on a doorstep justifying a necessity for a feline funeral or defending the positive benefits of a good parent-teacher relationship to her daughter. And while she really would enjoy the companionship, passion and chemistry that Max seemed to be offering her, it was just too complicated. Sure, she'd practically gotten Rory's blessing and she'd gotten the promise of another try from the teacher, but she had not been promised that everything would stay the same. There was no guarantee that everything she'd worked so hard for over the last fifteen years wouldn't vanish the second she decided to drop her walls (or her pants, for that matter).

There was another small thing that was tickling the back of her mind throughout all the change or no change debates. She was still desperate to ease the continuously building sexual tension. She just wasn't sure she wanted her release to be accompanied by some sort of package deal with commitment and three-course dinner dates. She was getting enough of that with the endless Friday night torture sessions.

So now, with all of the inner turmoil raging, she was trying to forget it all by pounding the sidewalks of Stars Hollow in too expensive footwear. She felt as though she was paving the Yellow Brick Road to Emerald City. The place where all her answers resided on the corner of Friendship Circle and Resolved Sexual Tension Lane. The place she affectionately called Luke's Diner. No, she hadn't forgotten the internal battle she'd waged with herself for weeks. She hadn't forgotten the intense dreams that had plagued her since that night that required a change in undergarments and a shower every morning. Not one of those dreams involved Italians. Not one of those dreams involved a candlelit dinner.

She had now turned the corner (among many) and was facing the sacred space of the diner. The unchanging, unfailing space containing a counter that resided as much in her subconscious as it did in this building. One step inside and she could have answers and solutions to her mounting problems. Or could step inside and maintain the status quo by sharing light-hearted ever-repetitive flirty banter while waiting at home for the phone to ring.

No matter what, it seemed that the first step would be walking through the door.

**If a Great Wave Should Wash Us All Away**

"We're closed." Gruffed a disembodied voice from the storage room.

"And…?"

"And…that usually means that I don't serve customers after the sign's flipped." The voice materialized solidly into man. They shared a look.

"The door wasn't locked, the coffee pot's still on. To me, that translates as not so closed as you let on. Expecting anyone?"

"Yep."

"Should I leave."

"Nope." Luke used the flats of his palms to hoist himself into a sitting position on top of the counter, facing away from Lorelai. The irony of the situation was not lost on her.

"Does this mean I have to get my own coffee?" Lorelai could see the ripple of his back through the flannel when her voice broke on the last word.

"Among other things." His voice got huskier the deeper he spoke.

Lorelai dropped her purse on the counter and her jacket on a stool and strode, more confidently than she actually was, around the counter to grab her mug and fill it with the pot.

"How'd you know I was coming?" She took a sip, avoiding eye contact.

"You're predictable." He caught her.

"I doubt that." Her chin projected defiantly.

"Wanna bet?" There was the briefest flicker in his eye that was reminiscent of the first Friday night dinner and bath inducing bank meetings. "So how long has it been?" Lorelai sputtered over her second sip.

"What?!" She glared.

"You heard me." He glared back.

Lorelai hopped onto the counter next to him, maintaining eye contact. She put down her coffee and instantly regretted it when she was overcome with the overwhelming need to fidget. He continued to glare at her and she knew he would continue to do so until she answered.

"Too long. You?" His glare easily transformed into a look of shock. He pushed forward and slid off of the counter. He bounced once on the balls of his feet and turned with a glance her way out of the corners of his eyes. He walked straight to the window in front of him and with a flick of his wrist shut the blinds with a snap. Without a backwards glance, he moved to the second set. Snap. He skipped the door and moved to the window next to it. This snap nearly made Lorelai jump. Why this one? She wasn't sure, but suddenly she was no longer in charge. She thought she would have to talk him to death, wear him down with words until he was a shivering mass of flannel. She thought she would be able to keep her options open until the very end when she would either walk out of the diner or be hoisted upstairs. Either way, it would have been her choice. Snap.

She was seemingly lacking in the choice department this evening.

The last snap led him back to the door where he paused to look back at her. Eyes caught. Burned.

"Entirely too long." Lorelai's breath hitched. Her heart rate doubled with the turn of the deadbolt. This was not going to plan at all.

He began a slow stride back behind the counter. Lorelai realized she had never seen this side of this man before. She also realized that if she had, this would not have been the first time she found herself in this situation.

When he reached the other side of the counter he faced her, leaning against the counter next to the coffee machine. _Addiction by association. _He crossed his arms, chin to chest.

"How'd you know?" She needed some answers here. How was this man suddenly the one with all of her answers? This was the first time in years that Rory was not that person for her. It was unsettling. Never had a man known her this well. She wouldn't let them.

"I told you. You're predictable." He gave her a half-cocked smirk.

"I didn't even predict this." She raised an eyebrow.

"I know." He reached out a roughened hand from under his arm to brush a thumb across her bottom lip. Her legs spread instinctively, an invitation to step between them. It was an invitation he took excruciatingly long to accept. Lorelai was near panic when he stepped forward.

"I don't think this means what you think it means," she said with a quaking voice.

"I know _exactly_ what this means." The roughness of his voice hit the skip switch in her heart. The thumb tracing her lip moved across her cheekbone to tuck a stray lock of hair behind her ear. It was an action she was so accustomed to doing herself that feeling someone else do it, someone who knew her that well, increased her tension ten-fold.

When she felt the scrape of his left hand on the denim covering of her knee, she felt the need to clarify. She was prompted further when the hand began the ascent to her hip.

"This can't change anything." Her voice was a bare whisper and it still seemed to echo in the dark quiet of the diner.

"Look around you, Lorelai." His right hand released the strand of hair and fell to her side, barely brushing the swell of her breast with his knuckles and sweeping down her ribcage to fall and grasp her other hip. "Does it look like I have anything to do with change?"

His hands pulled forward and contact was made. As soon as zippers clashed, mouths followed. It was the same rivalry that took place across the counter that was now happening on top of it. It was an intense fight for control. Lorelai grabbed the bill of his cap to remove it with one hand so she could palm the back of his head, forcing his mouth deeper, with the other. Control shifted in her favor. That is, until the wide span of Luke's hand allowed his thumb to brush the inseam of her jeans. Her gasp only furthered his domination as it allowed his teeth to graze her tongue and lower lip. She fought to gain control the only way she knew how.

"No one can know….ever." His free hand rose, much the same way that the other had descended. It crossed over her breast stopping in the middle of her chest over her rapidly beating heart. He applied the smallest pressure and she obeyed, falling back on propped elbows.

"'Cause I'm an open book to this town." He gave her a wry smile. She would have returned his smile if his hand hadn't chosen that moment to replace his thumb on her inseam and apply the same pressure that his other hand had on her chest. It followed the path of her zipper up to the button that, with a flick of his wrist, came undone.

He bent over her to claim her mouth again. He grabbed the hair at the nape of her neck and used it to further his cause of dominating her mouth completely. Her clouded brain barely registered the unzipping of her jeans, until he released her mouth and returned to standing position. He grabbed for her feet and removed each shoe. Once again, she felt the need to press the issue.

"And we stop as soon as anyone else comes into the picture."

He hooked his fingers into the waistband of her jeans and began to remove them slowly.

"Isn't there already someone else in the picture? Is he not _teaching_ you anything?" Her jeans were off and Luke had tensed, but managed a teasing glint in his eye.

"How did you know that? And don't say I'm predictable." She felt the same tension, but matched the teasing glint. This could easily go beyond the boundaries of their hasty understanding.

"You and Sookie shouldn't talk so loudly in the middle of my diner." He was still running one finger along and under the waistband of her underwear and another over her clothed nipple, maintaining a level of tension and arousal she wasn't aware she was capable of. "You should also never talk to a strange man on your front porch with Babette living next door. You never know who could be watching."

Lorelai gave him a shocked look and then burst out laughing. Luke chuckled shortly.

"He's not technically in the picture. We haven't even been on a date," she justified. "_If_ I decide to go out with him, we'll cool off." Though cooling off was the last thing on her mind as his thumb slipped under the leg of her underwear to brush against her rhythmically. Her hips bucked. She moaned. He chuckled again.

"Don't "if" it away, Lorelai. If he works for you, make it work. I pour your coffee, I fix your porch. I don't date." The lull of his voice seemed to somehow take away any consciousness of her own actions. She had his jeans undone, unzipped and over his hips before she realized it. Her hand disappeared into the fly of his boxers and she finally felt the silk of his skin. He moaned. She chuckled."

"I can't even imagine you dating." She thought back to her late-night internal struggle that led her to this moment and was reassured that he did indeed know what he was doing.

"Good. Don't." She arched her eyebrow and slid his boxers down with his jeans.

"But that's what normally leads people to this point." She grasped him tightly and he threw back his head gasping for air.

"And didn't I say that it had been entirely too long. Plus I don't recall ever being considered normal." There was a silent communication of agreement between them. "You know, I've fixed the door on your medicine cabinet enough to know exactly what is in there. Do you really need to question where I've been?" The glint in his eye was back. Lorelai knew this man well enough to know he hadn't _been_ very many places.

"No." Without skipping a beat, fabric was swept to the side with adept grace and with a swift upward thrust she was completely full. Her head fell back between her shoulder blades, her hair brushing down her elbows to the stool below. She felt the coil that had been building tighten with each thrust.

"Suddenly I don't believe you," she managed to get out between pants.

His hand raised to cup her cheek and she shifted to press a light kiss to his palm as they both continued to play against each other. Friction built. They simultaneously moaned.

"Why?" Thrust. "Because I know what I'm doing?" Withdraw. "Or because you're still wondering how you got in this position?" Swivel. Thrust.

"I like this position." The hand on her cheek traveled magnetically down the slope of her neck to the hollow of her exposed throat to the unexposed valley of her breastplate. Lorelai's back arched to maintain the illusion of the magnetic connection.

"As do I." With a stronger thrust, the words caught in his throat and Luke's eyes squeezed shut.

"I always figured there was some hidden button that, once pushed, would have you talking in full sentences." Eyes opened, met. Luke smirked. Lorelai broke a full smile.

With another deep thrust, her moan caught on a gasp and ended in a grunt that so closely matched her partner's usual repertoire that she would have laughed. Would have, that is, if her inner coil wasn't delightfully coming undone.

"I think I found that button." Was his whispered reply as he quickened the pace to encourage her over the edge. Lorelai had never laughed mid orgasm before, and it only served to heighten the impact of release.

The staccato of her laugh flexed the muscles necessary to milk Luke's release. He tensed. Gasped. "Lore-" Thrust. "-lai."

Their heavy panting bounced off the silent diner's walls as auditory proof of the act that had just been committed. Only those wall were witness to what had just occurred, aside from the hyper-aware participants.

Luke groaned as they separated. Lorelai's body was unable to move after her long-awaited release of tension. She could barely wrap her mind around the fact that she had just had one of the most fulfilling sexual encounters with the least likely of partners.

With shaking hands spent of grace, Luke redressed himself and then her. It seemed Lorelai wouldn't be moving in the near future.

"So…" he was back to the single syllable grunting, it seemed.

"I thought I needed to get it out of my system. Instead, I think, it might have just integrated itself there." The corner of her mouth twitched. He frowned.

"I thought we were clear on that." He stepped back from the frame of her thighs, and would have leaned back on the opposite counter if her leg hadn't caught him with a heel on his ass urging him back. Denim met denim and scraped tension onto over-sensitized flesh. They both groaned.

"Crystal." She grabbed the line of buttons on his flannel and used it as leverage to pull herself into sitting position. "I didn't think that meant that I wasn't allowed to like it." He chuckled and pulled her in for a fierce kiss.

"I didn't say that," he murmured against her lips. "Like it as much as you want." Another kiss. "I did." And once again the kiss turned into a heated battle for control.

They separated and he moved away to grab a rag from underneath the counter. Lorelai hopped off and grabbed her shoes from the floor. She spotted a flat gray piece of cloth on the floor nearly underneath the counter. She grasped it, feeling the scrape of familiar canvas on her finger tips. Walking up behind Luke, she replaced his cap backwards on his head eliciting a small shiver from the man. She let her hand trail down his back then walked to the other side of the counter and slid into a stool, bringing her leg up to replace her shoes on her feet. He began wiping down the counter in front of her. He turned, grabbed the coffee pot and refilled her forgotten cup. He pushed the cup towards her. She took a sip after her shod feet returned to the wooden rung of the stool.

"That crap will kill you," he grunted.

"And yet you keep on refilling the mug. You tryin' to tell me something?" And with that they easily slipped into their assigned roles. Lorelai finished her coffee while Luke cleaned out the coffee pot and turned off the machine.

"Well, now is officially closing time." He nodded his head toward the door, indicating the sign.

"You kickin' me out?" She grinned.

"Isn't Rory waiting at home?" Lorelai's eyes widened. Oh god! She had completely forgotten her daughter. This was not good. Especially since her last talk with Rory involved some sort of teenaged blessing allowing Lorelai a love life. Well now she had one. Well, a sex life, that is. She nearly choked on her coffee at that thought. She and Luke had a freakin' sex life.

"Heh. I didn't think I was _that_ good." He emptied the pastry case into a to go bag, effectively hiding a full grin he didn't want Lorelai to know he was capable of.

"Ease up, Burger Boy. I gotta run." She stood grabbing her jacket and purse.

"Take these." He handed her the pastry bag. "Knowing you two, she'll be so distracted by sugar and fried dough, she'll forget to ask what _exactly_ you were doing." She took the bag.

"Don't you mean who?" She grinned cheekily and walked to the door, unlocking it and pushing it open enough to illicit a jingle. "Nothing changes?" She turned back and caught his eye.

"Nothing changes."


	2. Chapter 2

**How Revisionist of You: Part II**

Disclaimer: You know the tune...sing along.

Summary: Celebrate we will?

Dedicated to: Pig, for always being there playing in the background.

**Just Thinking Out Loud**

The party was finally over. The adrenaline that had kept her going all night was wearing thin. Sixteen years old. It's been sixteen years since she laid in that hospital bed scared beyond all reason. Sixteen years since she was sixteen. She'd bought Rory a laptop for god's sake. The calming effect that washing dishes provided her in normal circumstances was doing very little for her now. There was a boy outside. A boy who seemed to know that it was her daughter's birthday. He knew and Lorelai wanted to forget. If she forgot then maybe she could shut her eyes and pretend that Rory was still reading Ramona Quimby books on a bed that was still too big for her.

Others would fancy her in the early (or late) stages of denial. She fancied herself a realist with a dash of the whimsical and all others, fate and time included, could hop on raft with the rest of the pharaohs on that river. What are things you can't control if they aren't, at least, centered around you and what you want? She couldn't be blamed for all of this time passing by. It had to be someone else's fault. She was beginning to think it was her mother's doing. If all else fails, blame it on Emily Gilmore.

Lorelai used to look at her mother and know with certainty that Emily Gilmore was old. That she was so out of sync with what went on in the real world that she wouldn't know "cool" if it paddled her on the ass and demanded she beg for more. Now, however, she looked at her hands emerging from the soapy water and saw her mother's hands. The smoothness of youth was receding . There were defined lines around her knuckles that were erased and redefined as she clenched her fists. It was simultaneously angering and reassuring. The lines were a testament to her age and all that she had been through. She had held a baby Rory to her breast with those hands. She had scrubbed hotel bathrooms with those hands. She had gripped headboards tightly with those hands.

This last thought brought her back to the present. The birthday girl may be outside with the bag-boy, but there were still two guests in the house. The caterer and the bringer-of-all-things-frozen remained to aid the clean-up process. Their quiet rustling could be heard accompanied by the swish of filling trash bags from the living room.

Luke's presence this evening was surprisingly not unsettling. They had maintained that status admirably since their last encounter, living up to their whispered promises. To everyone around them, nothing had changed. To Lorelai and Luke, nothing had changed. Lorelai still had the unsettling dreams and the ever-present hum of sexual tension. Only now it was fueled by the glaring tinge of reality instead of the soft mystery of fantasy. She'd be doing menial tasks (such as washing the dishes) and she'd have a flash of skin against skin, panting breaths, the sound of a ball cap falling with a soft thud onto linoleum flooring. Every sip of coffee smelled of sex, every ring of a bell clashed with grunted promises.

It had been a week (a freakin' week!) after a dry spell of years, and she wanted more. She was beginning to remember, with weak-kneed enthusiasm, the feel of the exact moment of penetration when the back door burst open. Her daughter walked briskly into her room. With the girl in her near vicinity, Lorelai erased all dirty thoughts from her mind. If she was thinking about it, her eyes would reveal that because she knew her daughter and her daughter knew her. She's become an expert at deception in the past week and while she hated it she knew that it had to be done. While her daughter might be the one person in the world that could understand her, Rory would not understand this. For that, Lorelai loved Rory even more.

**Don't Mean to Dwell on This Dying Thing**

Rory emerged from her room, duffle bag in hand.

"Mom, I'm off." Rory shuffled her feet, a tell-tale sign that something was going on that she didn't want to tell her mother about. She'd not perfected deception as well as her mother had.

"And Mrs. Kim is okay with you showing up this late?" She smirked, ever amused by the lady's rules and restrictions.

"She seems to have grudgingly accepted this night as something special. Although, if these things keep going later and later, she might not allow us to keep up this one birthday tradition." Lorelai had never understood Rory's preference to the Kim house on birthday nights until Rory finally caved and confessed Lane's secret music collection.

Sookie bustled into the kitchen and immediately began to make sure all of her culinary talents were not wasted on the Gilmore storage method (eat until gone), carefully sealing and packaging.

"Rory, are you leaving?" She glanced up at Lorelai. "Luke's finishing up in the living room."

"Yeah, Sook. Traditional birthday sleepover at Lane's soon to be commenced." Rory said as she leaned over to give Lorelei a kiss on her cheek. "I'll be home as soon as we've cleared out every book and music store in Star's Hollow- after our hourly prayers, of course. I'll call."

"Enjoy your tofu." This was Lorelai's traditional birthday send off.

"Always." And Rory was gone. One down, one to go.

"Sookie, there's no need. I'll take care of it. Go home, you've done plenty." She have her friend a grateful smile.

"Alright, I suppose it was bad enough that I couldn't leave in the first place."

"Well, normally I would be insulted by someone suggesting that I didn't know how to store perishables, but with you I know that you care." Lorelai crossed the distance between them to give her a swift hug. "Thanks again for all of your help."

"Anything for Rory. God I can't believe that she's sixteen. I feel really old." Sookie looked down.

"I know, Sook. I really do." Lorelai gave her friend a reassuring wink. "I'll see you soon. Give me a call, okay?" She really didn't want to admit to pushing her friend out the door, but dammit, there was sex to be had.

"Alright sweetie. See you." Then suddenly Lorelai was alone….almost.

Lorelai turned back to the sink and plucked another class from the suds. She did feel old and she didn't like it. She was trying to hold on to the memories of her youth. She realized then that she didn't really have much of a youth to hold on to. Getting knocked up in your teens will do that to a girl. These thoughts weren't helping so she tried to remember the last time she felt young. She knew it was there and she knew if she thought hard enough she could remember. She knew she acted like a teenager most of the time, but it was much different than _feeling_ young. She could act all she wanted, but that didn't stop her from having the responsibilities that she had, or the worries.

**But Look At My Blood**

She felt a presence behind her and came out of her reverie. She heard the soft thud of something being set on the kitchen floor. She continued to wash the dishes, pretending to be unaffected by the other person in her kitchen. She heard approaching footsteps and felt the heat of his proximity on her back. Suddenly, two hands gripped the counter on each side of her periphery. Suddenly she was able to remember the last time she felt young. She also felt the stirring of hairs where his breath met her neck. She instinctively leaned back into him.

"Did Rory head to Lane's?" His hot breath spurred her to nod silently. "Sookie gone, too?" More breath. More nodding.

"Finally." This nodding was enthusiastic and the shiver hit her spine and trailed the column to her tailbone causing her hips to sway. The back of her jeans swiped the front of his and as a result a deep groan resonated behind her. His hands swiftly left the counter to grasp her hips an a now familiar grip. Lorelai first thought it was to still her reaction, but he pulled her hips back and ground against her with a fierceness she wasn't aware he was capable of. Sure, he was gruff and a little callous, but never physically forceful or aggressive. She liked it, expressing her enjoyment by giving back as much as he gave. They both released deep sighs.

"God, Luke. I wish you'd have done this when you walked in the damn door." He chuckled while raising his hand from her hip to her stomach underneath her shirt. She reached behind her and slid her hands around his hips landing them in the back pocket of his jeans. He growled softly into her ear.

"Somehow, I doubt your mother would have approved." His hand quickly rose, dragging the hem of her shirt along with it. He paused at her breasts, sweeping over them, letting her shirt ride along her bra-line before attaching his lips to her neck aggressively. She was giving over control to him again. She didn't know how he won out every time, but he did and did so powerfully.

"You'd be surprised at what my mother seems to approve of." This came out a half-moan, half-gasp as he joined his teeth and tongue to his mouth's ministrations.

"Hmm?" His inquiry reverberated through her shoulder causing her hands to clench the fabric within his pockets. The force of it pushed him closer to her once again.

"Apparently, when you came in, my mother perceived the look on your face to mean that you were a man in want of a lap dance." Luke chuckled deeply this time. The sound was so erotic, muffled by her shoulder that Lorelai moaned unabashedly.

"Your mother doesn't know me at all and yet, she reads me so well." it was Lorelai's turn to laugh. This man was becoming more of a mystery to her the more intimately acquainted with him that she became. He only seemed to speak in clear, coherent sentences during foreplay. Luke actually was eloquent when involved in sexual activity, making the scenario even more enticing. Luke was in the process of removing Lorelai's shirt when she giggled again at her thoughts.

"And what is so humorous?" Not wanting to share her revelations with him, she covered admirably by returning to the topic of maternal observations.

"There was also some comment about a porterhouse steak, but I was still so amused that she said lap dance, I didn't catch it." Lorelai's hands returned to his denim clad behind after the removal of her shirt. She was desperate to return him to their previous closeness.

He lifted his head to her ear to whisper, "But I don't eat red meat." This man was going to be the death of her. She turned her head to drink in his strong profile.

"My mother seems to think differently." Her lips brushed his jaw line.

"Can we stop talking about your mother now?"

"Thank god." Their lips met in a searing kiss. Lorelai willingly surrendered to their usual battle for control, giving it all to him. She'd just waited too damn long for this not to. His tongue was sweeping her mouth, leaving no part unexplored. She envisioned her mouth claimed by a flag with a coffee cup emblazoned on it, waving victoriously from its pole. She was now grinning into the kiss which elicited a similar response from her partner. This just spurred her on to remove her hands from his backside and use them to ensure that his mouth stayed in place. She was surprised when she came in direct contact with soft, curly hair. He'd removed his cap. The sneaky bastard knew exactly what he was coming into this kitchen for.

Luke, however, was not one to be stayed by mere hands. He broke the kiss only to continue his exploration of her jaw line up to her ear and back down the slope of her neck. Lorelai did not protest. His hands traveled down the column of her neck to the tops of her breasts. He followed the lines of fabric with the tips of his fingers around to her sides, to her back. With one hand he undid the clasp of her bra while the other plunged to her jeans and the top button, unfastening it. Was this man fucking ambidextrous? It made sense with all of the multitasking he did at the diner.

"Have you heard anything from the teacher?" His hand delved underneath the waistband and came in direct contact with heated skin. "Jesus, Lorelai."

"Inviting you over here tonight may have involved some ulterior motives on my part." Her hip bucked involuntarily as she deliciously enveloped one of his fingers. "Max doesn't matter, just don't…..ever…..stop." And with that, she was cold. He'd removed himself and any hands or body heat.

**It's Alive Right Now Deep and Sweet Within**

"I may just be providing a service for you, Lorelai, but I'm still human. I don't do sloppy seconds, not even for you." He caught her eye's reflection in the window with a cold stare.

"Jesus Luke, I know that. I haven't heard from the guy." He was back, flushed against her rear, assuming all previous positions. Lorelai gasped at the sudden reconnection of sensation. Her hand reached behind her to clutch maniacally at the back of his head. He was working her into a frenzied place that few people had previously brought her to. He didn't even have all of her clothes off yet.

"Good god, Luke, this is crazy." She was panting. The diner-guy had her panting. "You should come with a Surgeon's General Warning label." Another deep chuckle reverberated against her shoulder.

"Yeah, I'll post it next to the 'no cell phones' sign. I'd never hear the end of it. Maybe just a tattoo on my ass….?" His gravel-rough tone was so entrancingly seductive that Lorelai had ceased paying attention to anything else. The brush of denim scraping her ankle bones brought her out of his trance. It wasn't until he was buried deep inside her that she realized he had removed the obstacle of their clothing. Luke's drawn out moan brought her reeling into the present.

He must've been having as much of a difficult week of anticipation as she had. He was taking her with deep, powerful strokes. He was claiming her soul with teeth clenched onto the spine of her neck. He was going to leave such a mark that concealer and a loose hair style would barely cover it. Her hands met his on the edge of the sink and they held together in a united grip for much needed leverage.

Gradually, her peripheral vision was dimming around the edges. Her pupils were dilating and the room was beginning to close in. All she could focus on was the mop of brown hair moving behind her shoulder in the window's translucent reflection. She could feel her awareness spiraling and just as she was losing herself, piercing eyes met hers from behind the slope of her neck. As soon as the connection was made his eyes were gone and so was she.

Just as she was reaching the height of ecstasy, the sleight pressure of his hand on the small of her back pushed her down so her belly rested on the sink's separator, making her body perpendicular to his. This caused his claim on her to intensify ten-fold and before her pleasure could end, it began again. The only sensation she was aware of was his fierce grip on her hip with one hand and her neck with the other. Her hair was being swept aside as he continued his slow, deep seduction. She felt hot puffs of breath against her ear, such a sharp sensation that she might have welcomed another release.

"I never really liked the sound of my own name before, Lorelai…." The rest of his confession was implied. She'd been vocal? She'd been saying his name? Soon, though, she understood what he was talking about. His movements became short and frantic, then still. His "Lorelai" was a bare whisper against the shell of her ear and the only proof of his release.

There was a moment of hitched breathing, then Luke slowly wrapped his arms around her midsection and raised them both back up into standing position. His mouth, still close to her ear, dropped the barest kiss below it.

"I'll see you in the morning." Once again the barest whisper, a far cry from Ranting Luke. She felt the rustle of him righting his clothing and then he was gone. His footsteps echoed down the hallway and ended at the sound of a shutting door.

Once he was gone, her head finally began to clear. She was slowly beginning to realize what a strange encounter the whole experience had been. She probably would have felt dirty if it hadn't been Luke and it hadn't been so passionate. That was it. It was passionate. It involved some mysterious emotion. Lorelai realized that they'd had a very intense session without ever looking at each other face to face. She knew that he had acknowledged her via her reflection, but he had looked away at the onset of her climax. And, dear god, she'd seen him wear that expression before.

It was the one he wore when he would rant too loudly at her.

It was the one reserved for broken things he'd fixed.

It was guilt.


	3. Chapter 3

How Revisionist of You: Part III

Disclaimer: They don't belong to me, I only play...

Summary: She contemplated the things she would change if she could overcome such improbabilities in physics.

Dedication: This one's all for Julie. Can I get a standing ovation please? This is all because of her.

Notes: Okay. Here's the deal. This used to be Chronicles of Change and is no longer, thank god. This is also a rewrite of chapter 3, never to read the old version again. Sorry folks couldn't take it. Expect the end to be soon.

_Pouring through our veins, Intoxicate moving wine to tears_

When she was younger she loved echoes. It was the only scientific way she could truly talk back to herself without appearing completely nuts. Yelling in any public setting was totally unacceptable to her parents, but it was freeing. Not one to normally commune with nature, she found it nice that nature did enjoy the sound of her voice as much as she did. An empty room or an open valley could bounce the sound back over and over again. If it were anyone else, of course, she would bring up the point of echoes being the one way nature mocks humans, making one's voice sound empty and redundant. Never one to turn criticisms back on herself, and being as narcissistic as she was, she could discriminate between which of her inner voices to listen to and when to listen.

It is, however, an entirely different sensation when it seems as though you, as a person, are echoing. When you echo, no one else can hear you. It's just you and it's very lonely.

That's how she felt as she stood in the middle of this empty, but familiar space. As her heels clicked on the scuffed but clean linoleum, she felt as though she was being mocked (a difficult position tobe in for a seasoned mocker). It was dark and no lights were on, save a pale glow from the behind the curtain. Shadows stretched and seemed to hide the normalcy achieved in the light of day. This was not her sanctuary and she wondered (not for the first time) what she was hoping to achieve by coming here now.

She did know that she was exhausted from fighting with herself so much. She couldn't sleep like she normally did (like the dead). She wasn't communicating as she should with her daughter and one of her best friends had been less and less of a friend and more and more of a person who saw her naked. She was being approached by a gentle and handsome man with an ivy-league education who made her feel wanted and beautiful and at peace during the time they spent together. The peace only lasted moments though, a memory of an aggressive caress over her hip bone in a darkened room would make her eyelids flutter and the puff of a gasp to leave her lips. Max would then cock his head to the side and look at her oddly. The brilliant thing about a whimsical personality with a little crazy tossed in, was that odd behavior was run-of-the-mill and easily overlooked.

She jumped when she heard the soft scuffle of socked feet overhead. A quick glance at the door presented an easy escape but little resolution. She turned on her heel, made quick strides past the curtain. She paused at the foot of the stairs, placed a hand on the worn banister for balance and slowly removed her sling-backs. It was like removing a heavy piece of armor and she felt relieved and slightly vulnerable. This also allowed her to pad softly up the stairs that loomed before her into total darkness, into the unknown.

She found herself at the door to an office, before she realized she did honestly want to be there. She knew that he lived above the diner, but she'd never actually been this far before. It was a bit shocking to her, having known him so long and so intimately that she had never been in the place he called home. She raised her hand to knock and stopped mid-air to control her shaking. She still wasn't sure what it was that had her so entirely out of balance. She didn't know what she wanted, and she always knew what she wanted. She had come here with some hope of getting answers to that phenomenon. If she was honest with herself, however, she also knew that she didn't really know this man at all. She had come to him from the very beginning and took, and continued to take whatever it was he was willing to give. She resolved her strength. It was time to give a little back.

_Drinking it deep_

_Then an evening spent dancing, Its you and me_

The knock echoed loudly in the empty hall and in her chest. She didn't hear his footfalls approaching the door, only the creak from the greaseless doorknob as it was turned. The door cracked allowing a sliver of soft lamplight to fall across her face. The opening widened and a tousled head of hair soon became visible. The backlighting shadowed his face entirely, she couldn't read his expression.

"Lorelai?" His whisky rough voice didn't echo at all and that comforted her slightly.

"I'm really sorry Luke, I know that it's late, but I'd really like to talk to you."

He was silent for an eternity. She knew this was one of the consequences of her flippant behavior towards him. The mistakes she had made in the past had always seemed worth it, the consequences seeming more like blessings than punishments. The weary look on Luke's face, though, made her reassess her whole view.

He opened the door wider in a silent gesture of welcome, but welcome wasn't what she was feeling. He looked extremely tired and worn, like he hadn't slept well for a couple months. She knew then, wholeheartedly, that this situation needed a remedy and not the one they'd been employing.

"What are you doing here?" He was squinting in just the way that would imply suspicion. For the first time since they started this insane relationship she felt really cheap. Luke made her feel cheap. She desperately needed to fix this.

"I was wrong."

Saying that seemed to strip another layer of armor from her soul, but once said it made the silence seem palpable. It moved and constricted making breathing difficult and nearly inconceivable.

"I was really wrong. Whatever it was that made me decide to go about doing….what we did, and lets face it, I should just stop listening to those voices, because they never tell you to invest wisely or go to bed early, they just tell you to dance around naked in your living room, wear those hideous shoes, or sleep with a really good friend."

He turned to look at her then, his look no more tolerant than before, but he did appear to be listening now.

"Well, it was the wrong decision. I thought that I could compartmentalize like that and I can't. I was offered something truly wonderful from a really decent man and all I could think about was finding some dark place where I could be alone with you." She took a deep, cleansing breath and was about to continue.

"If you were just trying to find a nice way to tell me that you decided to be with that Max guy, it's okay Lorelai. I saw the two of you-"

"What! When?"

"Does it matter?" Anger flashed in his blue eyes. "All I'm saying, Lorelai, is that if you came here to tell me that, you really didn't need all of the late night theatrics. I'm tired."

She took a calming breath as he became more agitated.

"This is what I'm talking about, Luke. I made a mistake. Any decision that I made that results in you thinking you can talk to me like that, is obviously a serious mistake."

Luke's eyes widened in shock and he took a step back, away from her. He turned and took two more steps, propped his hands on the edge of the kitchen sink, elbows locked, and bowed his head. The shadows in the darkness enhanced some of his features and hid the rest. He looked like a tragic hero in a silent film.

"I came here to say a few things…and I need you to hear me." Breathe, Lorelai, breathe.

"I asked you to do something for me a couple of months ago, or rather, you knew that I needed something from you and you complied without being formally asked. Although, how does one go about asking for casual sex? It's got to be uncomfortable and embarrassing. So thanks for saving me from that."

Rudolph Valentino emitted a deep sigh. She was rambling.

"Sorry. I honestly thought that we were capable of doing that, of getting what we needed without any fallout or consequences. That we were the kind of friends that wouldn't fail or falter if things changed a little bit." Luke apparently thought this last idea was amusing. He chuckled under his breath and the sound was so rough, like sandpaper on skin, that goose bumps skittered up her arms and her breath caught on a skipped heart beat.

"Don't laugh at me. I know how easy it is to do that and that I give you plenty of opportunities, but this isn't one of them." He bowed his head like a whipped puppy and turned at an angle so his back was completely to her.

"I should have figured it out. You said that you didn't like change. I was so stupid to think that this wouldn't change anything. I can't talk to you anymore, because you are what I want to talk to you about and I can't talk to Rory because I couldn't even begin to explain our situation to that innocent little girl. So I continue to have these really serious conversations with myself. Let's face it, I'm seriously becoming crazier because of what we did and no one really needs that, especially you. And now I echo."

"You what?" He turned back to face her, for the first time since this whole unloading began and he looked better. Less weariness, more acceptance. There was a touch of amusement in the crinkle of his eyes.

"I echo." She couldn't helpt the grin that tilted in pure reaction to his departure from the noir genre. The silence stretched and the tension stretched.

_This love will open our world_

_From the dark side you can see, The glow of something bright_

"So let me get this straight..." She forced her numbing legs back up under her rear, "You ran track. Like Chariots of Fire?"

"If you start humming, I'm kicking you out." The easy grin on his face belied the statement. "I ran track. State, for that matter, and pretty much took home the gold."

They stared at eachother for long moments, relishing the contact. She'd stopped twitching and he'd stopped brooding and the storm outside only served as an excuse for the static in the room. The clock spoke of some ungodly hour, but neither noticed. The creak and slide of the leather couch was the only sound aside from the rain protesting against the high windows.

"Like your extracurricular, high school activities were so much cooler?" Her eyebrows rose at the implication. He sighed and dropped his head.

"Hey, getting knocked up was the epitome of cool, don't knock it 'til you try it." Her haughty tone reinforced the notion that she had no idea of what she was saying.

"So to speak..." It was his eyebrow that raised with the lowering of his voice.

"I was actually in the Debate Club, thank you very much."

''Oh, shocker." She spurted out what could only be construed as a giggle of some sort. His eyebrows returned north. "I would also assume that you were some how involved with the Daughters of the American Revolution?"

Her eyes widened. "Only when dragged kicking and screaming. Oh, and neon orange nail polish, to piss off my mom, of course."

His eyes widened. "You're serious? Holy shit, Lorelai. I was only kidding."

"One does not kid about the DAR, Lucas. We underhandedly comment on the state of Kitty Cunningham's shameful affair with the pool boy and compare our mile long genealogies while barely keeping our claws sheathed, but we do not joke." Her seriousness was contagious and for the first time Luke lowered his eyebrows and narrowed his eyelids into the entirely-too-familiar slits.

"How is it that you are a walking poster-child for Crayola and daytime children's television and came from those people at the same time?" He rested his head lightly against the back of the worn leather couch and she followed suit. Knees pointed longingly at one another, one bare foot was pressed to the floor while another snaked out, bent at the knee to lightly brush at the soft cotton of his sweatpants.

"Jesus. I really don't know. I was obviously a responsibility of a milk man who no longer needed that burden. Whatever excuse I could possibly use wouldn't come anywhere close to the truth. I don't really even know what the truth is. I succumbed to that damn rock and roll, my sense of rebellion was acquiring independent thought, I wasn't loved the way I should have been? The possibilities are endless. And now, all that I know is that there is no way I can ever go back. Well, aside from the ever torturing Friday nights, but that's just the kicking and screaming I was alluding to before. Now, I have a lovely young woman for a daughter who just makes the world brighter, I have a job that I love, I have the most amazing friends and I-"

"Echo." Her hands that had been in a tangle with her hem, stilled. Her breathing grew more shallow and hitched slightly.

She figured that when he'd broken the tension earlier with a swift move to the pantry to retrieve a very mysterious uncorked bottle of wine and two glasses and led her silently to the couch, that they were done with all of the other stuff. Her thoughts were reinforced when they easily slipped into their patented give-and-take question and answer session. The topic had steered clear of all previous topics and now they were back here; his relentless eyes boring into her the same way they had the night he's so unceremoniously stripped her defenses while stripping her of clothing.

_There's much more than we see here_

_Don't burn the day away_

He was kissing her. Long and slow. Torturous and deep. The echo was now just the ebbing sound of her heart reverberating off her breastplate. Her hands clutched in fists and refused to move from their startled and useless place, hovering over his tight cotton shirt. His palms remained resting on the back of the couch and the cushion. They touched no other place than lips, sliding and learning in a way they'd never dared to before.

Her tongue dared to sneak out of its home and she tasted him for the first time since the last time and it was the same honey and tea, smoky dusk. That was the cue for one of her hands to come to life and scrape the beautiful rough of his cheek. She reached to tangle in the soft hairs that brushed his neck. His moan was encouragement enough for her to deepen the kiss and force her knees to bend under her so she could press her self to him more forcefully. A strong grip on her shoulders stopped her pursuit and she was sure this was over.

The grasp tightened, almost to the point of pain, but instead of forcing her back it just kept her still as he doubled his force on her mouth. She took this to mean that once again he was going to take control of the situation, but he released his grip and eased his hands over her shoulders to slide down her back with a whisper of silk. His arms crossed along the small of her back until she could rest her entire weight on his forearms. He lifted her then, as if she weighed nothing, never stopped kissing her like she was life itself and carried her to bed like it was his job.

_Is this not enough_

_This blessed sip of life _

_Is it not enough_


End file.
